


1939

by moon_custafer



Series: The Bureaucracy of the Otherworld Was Surprisingly Generous When It Came to Transportation [3]
Category: Dr. Mabuse (Movies), Norse Mythology, Testament of Dr. Mabuse
Genre: Afterlife, Friend Ship - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Vignette, psychpomp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_custafer/pseuds/moon_custafer
Summary: “I told you he’d be stubborn,” said Lohmann to the driver. Turning back to Hoffmeister, he said: “She’s a Valkyrie, you know.“





	1939

Spluttering, Hoffmeister opened his eyes. Someone’s hand was on his arm, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth had been replaced by the fiery sensation of… schnapps? Where was he? It was dark, upholstered. A panicked thought of caskets was immediately replaced by reason: he was sitting up, and one does not sit up in a casket.

“Easy there,” murmured a familiar voice. His eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and he realized he was in the backseat of an automobile, and that the person beside him was Chief Inspector Lohmann.

 

Hoffmeister felt a flood of relief at the sight; and then he remembered. His eyes must have widened in fear, for his old chief proffered the schnapps and asked:

“Need another?”

Hoffmeister accepted, shakily.

“Chief Inspector?” he began, after taking a swallow and handing it back.

“Yes?”

“You’re dead.”

“Nothing wrong with your memory, anyway,” Lohmann commented, as he stowed the flask in one of his overcoat pockets.

“Then how -–” The Chief Inspector gave him the lopsided grimace Hoffmeister so well remembered, the one he used to give when a situation was too ludicrous even for his sensibilities:

“Think it through,” he told his erstwhile detective.

“Am I dead too?” Hoffmeister whispered. Lohmann scratched his jaw and contemplated the other man. There was a slight wistfulness to his expression that Hoffmeister had seldom seen:

“You always were a bright lad,” he said at last.

 

Hoffmeister glanced about. Outside the windows was the grey of an early and overcast morning, and he could make out little of the swiftly-passing landscape. Inside, everything seemed perfectly real and solid. The auto had all the usual fittings of a modern vehicle. He touched the upholstery, which felt warm and soft, and the glass of the windows, which felt cool, hard and slightly damp with condensation.

“Are you going to prod me in the ribs, too?” asked Lohmann, who’d been watching Hoffmeister’s explorations. “Can’t say as I’d blame you, under the circumstances.” He clapped the junior detective on the shoulder. “Shake hands? We ought to anyway, it’s been long enough since I last laid eyes on you.” Hoffmeister took his hand, and it, too, felt real.

“Did you get... younger?” he asked, studying the Chief Inspector’s broad pink face.

“You got older,” came the reply, and he couldn’t disagree. The past five — no, six — years felt more like twenty.

“I never really expected there’d be anything afterwards,” he admitted. A worrying thought struck him: “Where is this car taking us? To Heaven, or—-“ he hesitated, and Lohmann threw back his head and laughed:

“Well, you can go where you want,” he finally said, “but I would have thought you’d give me a little more credit.” He paused, took in Hoffmeister’s appearance, and added in a softer voice: “You look as though you’ve been to Hell already.”

“There are more than those two options,” added the driver, who up until then had been silent. She had a deep, but silvery and feminine voice. “One destination in particular is reserved for the brave, if you wish it.”

“I’m not brave.”

“I told you he’d be stubborn,” said Lohmann to the driver. Turning back to Hoffmeister, he said “She’s a Valkyrie, you know. An expert on the subject. If she thinks you’re worthy of Valhalla, you’d be a fool not to at least consider the offer.”

 

Hoffmeister took a deep breath. Being dead did not seem to prevent his doing so; nor did it interrupt the effects of the schnapps upon his constitution — he was beginning to experience the same warmth and pleasant wooly-headedness that alcohol had always produced in him, alive. Perhaps it was being slightly drunk that made him reckless enough to say what he said next:

“I’ll go wherever you do, Chief.” He looked up in time to see Lohmann’s grey eyes blink a trifle more rapidly than usual. The Inspector cleared his throat and grunted:

“Well, it’s Valhalla for us both, then.”

 

The Valkyrie at the wheel spoke:

“You do have a way with people, little brother.”

Hoffmeister must not have completely hidden his surprise at the nickname, for Lohmann glowered down at him, and muttered:

“Not. A. Bloody. Word.”


End file.
